My Scumbag System Chapter 495: Sorry, Aphrodite, I Have a New Stalker

I settled myself cross-legged upon my bed, posture erect, hands resting on my knees. The ancient breathing techniques returned with an almost instinctual ease. In through the nose, a four-count hold, then out through the mouth. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

The surrounding quietude felt like a precious commodity.

Absent was Natalia, devising some violent scheme in the shadows. Absent was Emi, frantically baking enough carbohydrates to sustain a small village. Absent was Skylar, feigning indifference while her concern was palpable. Absent was Cel, posing questions with those piercing periwinkle eyes that saw right through any pretense. Absent was Akari, insidiously turning everything into a game I couldn't recall agreeing to join.

And blessedly absent was Maki, which felt like the most significant triumph of all.

The catgirl had made three distinct attempts to re-enter after I’d paid her a king's ransom in premium tuna to spend the night anywhere but here. Her third endeavor involved a shapeshift into her feline form, aiming to slip through the window. This plan would have succeeded had I not detected those luminous hazel eyes gleaming in the dark.

"Master requires meditation and contemplation for the challenges that lie ahead," I stated, my voice firm.

"Master requires a warm lap warmer," she retorted, already halfway through the window frame.

"Leave."

"But—"

"Leave. Now. Or face a week without ear scratches."

A hiss escaped her, her tails twitching with palpable indignation, and she vanished back into the night like wisps of smoke.

Now, I had achieved my objective. Tranquility. Solitude. Only Bartholomew, methodically consuming lettuce with the unshakeable confidence of an eternal being, and the immense pressure of the upcoming festival bore down upon me like a colossal boulder.

The Inter-Guild Tournament was slated to commence at ten in the morning. Every guild would be observing. Every sponsor. Every professional scout. The VHC administrators. Seraphina herself, most likely, considering her own sister would be competing on my team.

No pressure whatsoever.

I exhaled deliberately, releasing the tension from my shoulders and allowing it to dissipate into the mattress below. My ribs still throbbed from the preceding Crucible match, although Emi's healing arts had performed the bulk of the recovery work. The regenerator brace on my chest emitted a soft hum, a constant reminder of the numerous times I had been shattered and pieced back together over the past two months.

Two months hence.

Two months prior, I had materialized within this body, armed only with a System, the fragmented memories of a departed youth, and a celestial voice dictating my role as mere entertainment.

Now, I was tethered to five women whose very souls were irrevocably bound to mine, leading a guild that had ascended to the pinnacle through sheer tenacity and defiance, and facing a tournament that would either solidify our legitimacy or expose us as charlatans.

The logical conclusion of this trajectory remained unsettling.

My eyes fluttered open, fixing upon my hands. They appeared entirely ordinary. Calloused from gripping a weapon, etched with faint scars from Maki's recent bite, the skin around my knuckles slightly inflamed from sparring with Raphael. Yet, beneath this mundane surface, a potent force stirred. Those hidden stats, registering 6,250 across every attribute, artfully obscured by the System's deceptive interface as F-0 trash tier.

Anyone glancing at my status screen perceived a weak C-Rank harboring delusions of grandeur.

Only Nel and I were privy to the truth. That I was a legitimate A-Rank, nearing the threshold of S-Rank, capable of contending with individuals who had dedicated their lives to training since childhood, while I had spent my formative years consuming instant noodles and nursing a bitter resentment for the world.

The cosmic irony was so profound, it bordered on the absurdly humorous.

Almost.

I closed my eyes once more, endeavoring to re-center my focus. Tomorrow promised utter pandemonium. My presence needed to be steadfast. Concentrated. Prepared for any unforeseen stratagems the VHC and rival guilds might concoct against us.

The familiar sensation of the System's presence manifested behind my eyes, that distinct awareness of Nel transitioning to the forefront of my consciousness.

"Well, well, well," her voice purred through my mind, laced with that characteristic playful smugness that invariably signaled impending dread. "Look who's finally achieved solitude. No devoted entourage. No feline companion. Just you, your pet gastropod, and your overwhelming anxiety regarding the impending opening ceremony."

I kept my eyes closed. "I am meditating."

"You are spiraling into catastrophic thinking."

"Essentially the same."

"Not even remotely." A brief pause, and I could almost feel the widening of her grin. "However, I am not primarily here to deride your emotional vulnerabilities. I am here because an interested party wishes to converse with you. Someone new."

That piqued my interest. I opened one eye, a flicker of suspicion. "Apollo?"

"Negative."

"Aphrodite?"

"She already enjoyed sufficient amusement at your expense, recall? Five females, a single night, ample divine fodder to sustain her for a decade." Nel's tone shifted, adopting a more serious cadence. "This is an entity that has been observing from the periphery. Someone who finds your unique brand of mayhem... rather compelling."

The atmosphere in my chamber grew heavy, condensing around me. It evoked the peculiar stillness that precedes a lightning strike, a moment when the world seems to freeze in anticipation.

Then, she materialized.

Her appearance lacked the ostentatious flair of Apollo's grand entrances, nor did it possess the stereotypical grace of Aphrodite with her roses and overpowering fragrance.

Instead, this divine being manifested with the silent, piercing precision of a blade finding its mark between the ribs—utterly quiet, direct, and potentially fatal.

Positioned at the foot of my bed, her presence compelled me to suppress an instinctive urge to grab my trusty bat.

She possessed imposing stature, easily reaching six feet. Her physique was honed through rigorous combat, projecting an aura of battle-hardened prowess rather than mere aesthetic appeal in armor. Her skin held a rich bronze hue, as if perpetually kissed by the sun, or perhaps by an elemental flame, or some other divine source. Dark waves of hair cascaded down, seeming to absorb ambient light rather than reflect it. Her eyes, the startling color of molten gold, blazed with an intensity that made Reyna's emerald gaze appear as a mere candle flame against a roaring wildfire.

She was clad in functional battle armor, not some decorative ceremonial garb. A golden breastplate adhered to her form like a second skin, complemented by greaves that clearly bore the marks of having deflected genuine weaponry. A spear, humming with barely restrained power, was secured across her back.

Wings unfurled from her shoulders—not avian appendages, but something altogether different. They moved with a peculiar grace, a simultaneous fluidity of fabric and the rigidity of metal. Feathers, crafted from bronze and copper, shimmered and caught the lamplight.

"Satori Nakano." Her voice resonated like a perfectly struck bell, clear and authoritative. "The Stray Dog who dared to retaliate. The Scumbag Sovereign who stubbornly refuses to perish. The youth who engaged La Sirena in twelve punishing rounds and emerged with a defiant grin."

Remaining seated, I consciously maintained an even rhythm in my breathing. "And who might you be?"